


Against All Odds

by bondboy68



Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Murder, Suicide, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 14:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/687840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bondboy68/pseuds/bondboy68
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Against all odds, things were going really, really well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Against All Odds

**Author's Note:**

> Un-beta'd. Please feel free to let me know of any glaring or minor mistakes.

Against all odds, things were going really, really well. 

Q watched with a smile as James fixed his tie in the mirror. A week shy of their three-year anniversary and he couldn’t believe it. Nobody, not even them really, had thought they would make it close to a year. But they had and then some. And now things were comfortable, natural even. Q walked over and began fixing the man’s tie and straightening out his collar, just because he could. James was his. It was sometimes hard to believe that, and he just had to touch him to remind himself he could. 

James smiled back at him. “You’re in a good mood.”

Q shrugged. “I’m looking forward to you getting back.”

“I haven’t even left yet.”

“Yes, well. All the same.” Q leaned forward to press a kiss to the man’s lips. “I like it when you come back. It’s my favorite part of you leaving.” 

James chuckled and put his hands on Q’s hips. “In time for our anniversary.”

“You don’t have to promise me that. It’s just one day.”

“All the same.” James pressed their foreheads together. “I will be back in time.” 

Q grinned. He couldn’t quite let himself believe it, because he didn’t want to be disappointed when James got held up, but a part of him was already planning how to spend that night. “Alright.” 

They shared another quick kiss before separating to finish getting ready. They drove together to MI6, having given up long ago on appearing like they weren’t together. They separated at the door, though, James to M’s office and Q down to his department. They saw each other shortly after, though, when James came to collect for his mission. 

“Quartermaster.”

“007.” 

Moneypenny thought they were pervy, calling each other by their titles at work. Maybe they were. 

“New toys for me?”

“New very expensive gadgets that you will bring back in one piece, yes.” Q showed him the new gun, explosives, and hidden recording devices. “Think that should hold you.”

James smiled, taking the cases and closing them. “Thank you very much, Q.”

“Anytime, Mr. Bond.” 

“I’ll see you in a few days.”

“I look forward to it.” James leaned forward and Q put his hand over the other’s mouth. “No.”

“Oh come on,” the man complained, ducking the hand. “Just a kiss?”

“Not at work.” Q turned away, toward his computer, but was smiling. 

“Nobody’s paying any attention.” That was completely false, but James was sliding his hand over Q’s hip and there was no telling what he would do if he got it in his mind to really convince the other man. Q turned his head and pressed a quick kiss to James’ mouth. The other man smiled broadly. 

“Alright, get on now.” 

“See you in a week!”

“Goodbye, 007!” Q didn’t stop smiling to himself, though. 

There were a few simple facts that he held true, close to his heart, every time 007 let on another mission. James Bond loved him. He was coming back. And he was coming back to _him._ What more could he want out of life? 

\---

The mission was simple. Therefore, by some cruel rule of the Universe, everything went horribly wrong. Not any one persons fault, not really. 

Q stayed up for 40 hours straight trying to find James. Thankfully nobody tried to get him to leave his desk, they just provided him with tea and some food. Suddenly, out of nowhere, something came up. The name ‘James Bond’ used on a cell phone. Q typed furiously, yelling orders out to those around him. M and Turner were summoned. And, miraculously, a security camera patched into a network. 

“I found him, I found him!” Q shouted as he hacked into the footage and brought it up on the huge screen before him. “I found--”

The footage appeared and Q’s face drained of color. It was James, thought it was nearly impossible to tell. The man on the screen was tied up against a wall spread eagle. His shirt had been removed and his chest was streaked with blood and dirt. His head was down, his entire body slumped, beaten and bruised. 

Q couldn’t breath. The entire room was silent. A masked man stepped out in front of the camera. 

_“I’m glad you found our little show. I wanted MI6 to see what we will do to their agents when we catch them.”_

Q couldn’t move, couldn’t look away. He had to do something, he had to do /something./ Somebody was pulling him away, telling him he didn’t nee to see this. He pushed them off. He couldn’t leave, in a second he would think of how to fix this. He would think of something.

The masked man walked up to James and grabbed him by the hair, lifting his head. He was awake, his eyes just slits, the bright blue standing out among all the red swelling on his face. The man held a knife to James’ throat. _“Say goodbye, 007.”_ The blade must not have been very sharp, because he had to saw it across James’ throat. 

Somebody was screaming. As his legs gave out from under him, Q realized it was him. 

\---

He vaguely remembered being in medical, being strapped down to the bed. He kept having dreams, hallucinations, that James was there. He wasn’t dead, he just always left the room right before anybody else came in. If they would just wait around for a while he’d come back. He’d gone to get Q a soda. He wasn’t dead. 

It took a week for a team to extract James’ body and take down the men who’d killed him. In that time Q gently came back to reality, was allowed to go home for some real rest, under supervision. James was dead, he knew that. He’d watched him die. He said he was glad when Moneypenny told them that the agent had been avenged, that every man had been killed and their hideout destroyed. But he felt empty and so cold. 

It was raining the day of James’ funeral. They gathered in a tight huddle around the grave, a small island of black umbrellas. Moneypenny held tightly onto Q’s arm, probably more for his benefit than hers. He didn’t cry or make a single sound. That is, until M approached him with a single white lily. The traditional parting gift a wife or other surviving spouse would place on the casket. M held out the flower, giving this honor to Q. He’d never discussed the relationship with his boss. It wasn’t a thing that was ever really spoken about. Everybody knew it was happening, and that it was possibly against the rules, but nobody said anything, because somehow it improved both men for the better.

Q took the flower with shaky hands. He walked forward slowly, alone. It seemed like such a long walk. And as he dropped the flower on top of the wooden box that held the body of the only person he’d ever truly, really loved, he realized how completely alone he was now. How empty his apartment would be to return to. The flower fell slowly, landed silently. 

Moneypenny drove him home. 

“I’ll stay the night,” she said. She was worried about him. 

Q busied himself with making tea with shaking hands. “That won’t be necessary. I plan on going to bed early and being at work first thing in the morning.”

“Q you shouldn’t go back to work--”

“I need to,” he quickly cut her off. “I need to work. I need to distract myself.” He tried to give her a smile but even he knew it was strained and false. “I will see you tomorrow, Ms. Moneypenny.” 

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, made him promise to call if he needed anything. As soon as she left, he poured out the tea. 

There was a bottle of whiskey in the liquor cabinet. James’ favorite kind. Q had never been a fan, but it seemed right. He poured himself a glass and drank it neat. As he sipped the whiskey he walked through the flat. Everywhere were little things that spoke of their life together. Mismatched silverware because both of them had only had a few pieces each, so they’d kept both. Paperbacks on the coffee table, half read because James could never finish a book. There was a single picture of them on the mantle, taken at an office holiday party. They looked awkward, but happy. Q picked it up and carried it with him to the bedroom. 

He opened their closet where James’ suits hung next to his trousers and button-downs. He set down the photo and the glass and ran his hands over the familiar fabric. He pulled out one of his favorites, dark grey, along with a shirt a tie. Quietly, as if simply changing for the day, he put on the suit. Q sipped the whiskey, realizing he was developing a taste for it after all. There was a bottle of James’ cologne on the dresser. Q put it on, breathing in deeply the smell of James. He hadn’t slept in the bed since the night before the man left. This area he avoided. Q picked up his glass, the picture, and one last item gathered from the dresser. 

He went into the bathroom and gazed at himself in the mirror, sipping his drink. James’ suit hung off him, Q being slightly shorter and much slighter. He downed the rest of the drink, set it on the counter. 

He was alone. James was dead, not coming back. This time, they’d had a body to burry. 

Q climbed into the bathtub; laid down. He closed his eyes, could smell James. His cologne that Q had put on, as well as his shampoo from the bottle on the lip of the tub. He put the framed photo on his stomach. In his hands was a gun, cold and metal. 

“I love you,” Q whispered, lifting the gun. He put the barrel in his mouth. 

Q had never been one to buy into any religion. Never believe in God or heaven, or even prayed. 

But they’d beaten the odds before. As he pulled the trigger, he thought maybe they could beat them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the most deceiving summary ever. If you didn't check the tags, this fic is pure angst. I've been wanting to write this for ages. I saw somebody on tumblr write a drabble where Q killed himself while wearing Bond's suit and it just stuck with me. I forgot who wrote that, but this is their fault.


End file.
